


First Lies of Pack Defence

by crushing83



Series: Teen Wolf in Another Reality [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Damaged Derek Hale, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Derek trying to teach Stiles how to be a werewolf, Everyone tries, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing but this idea wouldn't leave my brain alone, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, POV Multiple, Protective Derek, Scott gets caught being sneaky, Scott is Sneaky, Scott is suspicious, Season 01 AU, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten Instead of Scott McCall, Stiles is less combative than Scott, Stiles learning how to be a werewolf, ace spectrum Stiles Stilinski, asexual spectrum Stiles Stilinski, may become Sterek way down the road, werewolf lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: Picking up whereWolf Moon (in Another Reality)ends, Stiles has to deal with learning how to be a werewolf, keeping his small pack safe, and piecing together a mystery. And... Scott. But he won't be dealing with Scott "I think I'm sneaky" McCall until he feels like Scott has learned his lesson."I know," Stiles said. He slowly stood, pausing to brush off dirt and leaves from his jeans before straightening completely. "And believe me, I appreciate this training stuff you're doing---even if it's only so I don't get in your way---but I really wish this could be more low impact like the scent and hearing training yesterday."Derek arched an eyebrow. Stiles decided his eyebrows were the visual component to the complex language Derek spoke through huffs and snorts."Come at me again," Derek instructed."Any advice to avoid getting a face full of dirt?""Yeah. Don't fall down," Derek said as he widened his stance and raised his arms.Stiles cackled. "Good tip," he said.





	First Lies of Pack Defence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how far I'll be able to continue this series, but I'm still chipping away at it. This story is a mishmash of events from "Second Chance at First Line" and "Pack Mentality." 
> 
> Please don't get too angry with me for how I portrayed Scott. Yes, I've been known to let my issues with the character take over my writing, but I also think there's a bit of wiggle room here, in this new universe. Scott has to deal with Stiles having other things in his life, besides their friendship. And he doesn't know what Stiles isn't telling him. Plus, Scott has a different path now, compared to the show, and I'm looking forward to tackling that in the next couple of episodes. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the story <3

When his phone switched from a series of text alerts to the longer call ring, Stiles groaned and slowed his jog to a walk as he reached up to his armband for his phone. 

(He hated that he owned one of those dumb straps. He'd always thought people looked ridiculous wearing them, but after the second time his phone flew from his hoodie pocket and ended up in the grass, he'd had to admit that maybe the contraption had a reasonable purpose.) 

He caught the caller---Scott---on the fourth ring. 

"Hey, Scottie," Stiles said as soon as he answered the call, listening through his earbuds and speaking through the microphone on their cord. "What's up?" 

_"Where are you?"_ Scott asked. 

"Out running," Stiles said. "Couldn't sit still and I think I've maxed out on Adderall for the week," he added, mixing a bit of truth with a bit of lie. "Why? Where are you?" 

_"At your house,"_ Scott replied. 

Stiles frowned. He rubbed the back of his head as he pondered Scott's answer. If they'd had plans---which would have been really unusual ever since Allison decided to give Scott more than the time of day---Stiles would have remembered. He was sure he would have remembered. 

"Uh… at the risk of sounding more scatterbrained than I usually am, why?" Stiles asked. 

Scott exhaled noisily in Stiles' ears. _"I wanted to stop by. Hang out. Y'know?"_ he said. _"Where are you? The woods?"_

Thinking that was an unusual assumption, considering Stiles hadn't been there much at all as far as Scott knew, Stiles snorted. "Nope. Running through town. Pounding pavement," he explained. "You wanna meet me at the park? I'm almost done, and I always stop there and chill out for a few minutes before heading back. We could go get ice cream---" 

_"Just… come home, okay? I'll wait here."_

When Scott ended the call, Stiles frowned. Scott had sounded almost angry with Stiles, and Stiles had no idea why he would be. They hadn't been hanging out much, since Scott found Allison and since Stiles had been bitten by the rogue alpha, but that was _their_ fault instead of _his_ fault. Scott was off sucking face with Allison, and Stiles had been trying to process everything that had happened to him. They had their own things; they were allowed to have their own things. 

And yet… 

The tone in Scott's voice suggested he was harbouring less-than-happy feelings towards him, and Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

He sighed, shook his head, and turned around so he could start the run back to his house. 

Before being bitten, Stiles _hated_ running. He avoided it at all costs. But, with his body not processing his medication properly (and he'd tried it after the full moon, too, just in case Derek was wrong), he'd had to find other ways to manage his short attention span. Exercise was the only thing that seemed to level him out enough to focus; exercise surrounded by nature was better, but he didn't feel safe running around the woods when there was an alpha out there looking to make him a part of their pack. 

So, he ran around the town. He got up early and ran for an hour before school, and then he had lacrosse practice followed by another run once everyone else left for home. If he was trying to do his homework and felt particularly twitchy, he started doing sit-ups and push-ups in his room before reapplying himself to the task. He hadn't quite figured out his weekend schedule yet, since his time was divided between relaxing, his father, and Scott; he knew, at least, that he could go for a run if he needed to give his head some time to settle, and that seemed to help. 

He'd fully planned on running for a couple hours---because he could do that suddenly, thanks to his werewolfiness---and then settling in with his chemistry lab notes. Scott, however, was throwing a wrench into his plans. 

Stiles knew he shouldn't be cranky about the fact that Scott wanted to see him. He knew he should be happy. But, from Scott's recent disappearing acts to Scott's behaviour on the phone, Stiles was having a hard time shifting his attitude. 

Thoughts like _Why do I need to clear my activities with him? It's not like he clears it with me when he's off with Allison!_ and _Who does he think he is for getting huffy when he's the one who ditched me?_ were fresh in his mind as he made his way back home. By the time the house was in his line of sight, though, that anger faded a bit to give his curiosity more of a chance to rule his mood and motivations. 

That curiosity blossomed into its full bloom when he caught sight of Derek watching him from the side of the house. 

"Stopping by for a visit?" Stiles asked, his voice quiet enough not to attract human attention and loud enough for Derek to hear his words. 

"I was tracking the alpha," Derek replied. 

Stiles stumbled as he moved to stretch his legs. Derek stepped out from the shadows of the house and caught him. 

"You okay?" Stiles asked. 

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Derek said. 

Stiles snorted. "Look. I just ran for an hour, so my coordination's a little off." 

After a quiet huff that Stiles took as a sign of amusement, Derek tugged Stiles towards the garage. Stiles followed, wondering what was on Derek's mind, but he didn't say anything. He waited as patiently as he could for Derek to explain himself. 

"The alpha's been around here a lot," Derek said. "Have you seen them?" 

Stiles frowned. With a shake of his head, he said, "No… there's been nothing… no sign. But, I've been out a lot, too, mostly running around trying to keep my head on straight." 

"It's working?" Derek asked. 

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "I might have to join the cross-country team, to explain away all the running I'm doing, but yeah. Seems like exercise is enough to keep my brain from spinning off into another direction." 

"Good. That's… good." 

"It'd be easier if I could run in the woods," Stiles said. 

As his eyebrows lowered into a scowl, Derek frowned. "Not while the alpha's out there," he said. 

"But, you---" 

"If I promise to take you running in the woods a couple times a week, will that be better?" Derek interrupted. 

Stiles nodded, grinning happily. Derek huffed again. 

"All right. We'll start training this week, too," Derek added. "I'll need tomorrow to set everything up, but Monday, after school?" 

"Perfect," Stiles agreed. "Thanks." 

"You know Scott's in your house, right?" Derek asked. 

The grin on Stiles' face faded. "Yeeeah. He called me before I could finish the first half of my run. Apparently it's really important that I come back." 

"He smells angry," Derek said. "Maybe there's something wrong? A fight with his mom or girlfriend, maybe." 

"You can smell him from out here?" 

With a nod and a firm grip on Stiles' arm, Derek pulled him towards the back of the house. Stiles hadn't noticed the smell of burning whatever-it-was when he'd been standing with Derek by the garage, but as soon as they rounded the corner of the structure, Stiles could smell it. 

"So, that is Scott's temper," Stiles muttered. 

"Smells like it," Derek said. 

Stiles sighed. The endorphin rush from his run had completely faded and his previous annoyance and worry were returning. It wasn't until he felt the weight of Derek's hand on his shoulder that he felt like he didn't need to growl or whine. As soon as Derek made contact, more than the warmth of his body sank into Stiles' form. It felt like safety and warmth and support, in one touch. 

Of course, Stiles couldn't be one hundred percent sure that was what Derek intended with his gesture, but he was choosing to interpret it in that way. 

"Thanks," Stiles whispered. 

"Go," Derek prompted. "I'll see you Monday." 

Stiles nodded and slipped away from Derek and the reassurance he provided. With one last look over his shoulder at his only packmate, Stiles made his way into his house and towards Scott. 

The scorching scent was nearly overpowering by the time Stiles made it up to his room and opened the door. 

"Hey, Scottie," Stiles said, pasting on a smile and completely ignoring the fact that Scott was sitting at his laptop, scrolling through something. 

He wasn't too worried Scott would find his werewolf research because he'd cleared his browser history and moved the useful links into his locked directory, but he was annoyed because, even though Scott didn't need to ask to use something of his, he _usually_ did. 

"Finally," Scott said, looking up and smiling. "What took you so long?" 

"Uh, I was out running," Stiles replied. 

"Yeah, but… it's not like you're a long distance runner or anything." 

Instead of reminding Scott that he'd been by the park---downtown, and not exactly next door---Stiles flopped down on his bed and shrugged. 

"I've actually been thinking about joining the cross-country team," Stiles admitted. 

Scott frowned. "Really?"

Nodding, Stiles said, "Yeah. Since cutting back on the Adderall, running's been good for my brain." 

"Oh. Why'd you do that?" 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. "Because it's not healthy to double or triple my dose every day?" 

Scott smiled and ducked his head. "Oh. Right." He raised his chin and his smile stretched. "That's great. Really. I'm glad you're being all responsible and shit." 

"For once, anyway," Stiles joked. 

Scott laughed. 

After a snort, Stiles stood and made his way over to his dresser. If they were going to spend any sort of time together, he was going to need a shower.

#####

As Stiles let loose a long, low groan, Derek peered over him where he lay on his back.

"Again," Derek growled. 

"Man, you're killing me," Stiles muttered. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed the back of his head. "I thought you were gonna go easy on me because I'm a newb." 

"You think the alpha will go easy on you?" Derek asked. 

Stiles frowned. He knew Derek made a very valid point---but he wished Derek was just a little bit more gentle in his methods. 

"I know," Stiles said. He slowly stood, pausing to brush off dirt and leaves from his jeans before straightening completely. "And believe me, I appreciate this training stuff you're doing---even if it's only so I don't get in your way---but I really wish this could be more low impact like the scent and hearing training yesterday." 

Derek arched an eyebrow. Stiles decided his eyebrows were the visual component to the complex language Derek spoke through huffs and snorts. 

"Come at me again," Derek instructed. 

"Any advice to avoid getting a face full of dirt?" 

"Yeah. Don't fall down," Derek said as he widened his stance and raised his arms. 

Stiles cackled. "Good tip," he said. 

The last few attempts at besting Derek, Stiles rushed him in a direct fashion. He received nothing for his efforts but impacts with the ground. It was time to try something else, Stiles decided as he looked around at his surroundings. 

When he rushed Derek, he avoided Derek's hands swiping out for him by dropping down and sliding between Derek's legs. He scrambled up to standing as quickly as he could and pounced. As he landed on Derek's back, he pushed with his hands and wrapped with his legs, sending Derek down into the dirt for the first---and probably only---time ever. 

"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed, fists raised above his head in victory. "I did it! I di--- _ahhhh!"_

Derek twisted them around, burying Stiles' face in a cluster of ferns. 

"Better," Derek said. "Don't let up you guard until I'm disarmed." 

"But you're never disarmed!" Stiles complained as he rolled over and glared at Derek. 

"Exactly," Derek replied. 

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but then he realised the lesson Derek had shared. 

"Oh. Right." 

Derek extended his hand and pulled Stiles back up into a standing position when Stiles accepted the gesture. 

"That was better," Derek said. "Smart, even. Keep thinking like that. The alpha is big and strong---"

"And I'm puny and weak," Stiles interjected. 

"I was going to go with young and inexperienced," Derek said. "You'll get stronger with practice and age." 

"So… for now…" 

Derek pulled him close, his hand a reassuring weight on the back of Stiles' neck. 

"For now, use your brain," Derek advised, his voice quiet in the din of the forest. "Look at your surroundings and use what's there." 

Stiles nodded against Derek's shoulder. He felt an impulse to hug back, to rub his cheek over Derek's neck. While some of that was too weird for him, some of it was not. He wrapped his arms around Derek, leaning into the embrace and receiving a squeeze from Derek in response. 

When Derek rubbed his cheek against the side of Stiles' head, the impulse suddenly made sense. 

Derek was marking him with his scent. 

_Cool._

His new wolfish instincts were totally on board with the gesture. 

Giving thought to those instincts, to that new side of himself, was like flicking a switch. One minute Stiles was savouring the new closeness with Derek, and the next… he was screaming in a rage that didn't belong to him. 

"Stiles?" Derek asked. 

Stiles felt his claws and fangs emerging. He swiped at Derek, who jumped out of his way, and then he turned and listened to the voice calling for him. 

It was a roar, in the direction of the sunset and of the school, and it was saying _It's time to hunt! Come to me! Come to me, now!_ in a language Stiles barely understood and felt compelled to obey---no matter how much it scared him. 

Derek seemed to understand, too, because he threw a punch at Stiles head that left his ears ringing before he knocked Stiles down onto the forest floor with his body and kept him pinned to the earth with his weight. 

"Fight it," Derek growled. "Stiles! Fight it!" 

"They want me to hunt with them," Stiles said, his voice distorted by the growling whine that was escaping his throat. "It's time to hunt! Derek---" 

"And what if they want you to hunt your dad?" Derek interrupted. "You gonna go do it? You gonna sink your teeth and claws into your father just because the Alpha tells you to? Or are you going to fight them to protect him?!" 

At the mention of his father, Stiles' heart stuttered in his chest. The compulsion to run after the alpha faded as Stiles started to think about his dad, the Sheriff, being at the other end of his or the alpha's claws. 

His own claws retracted. He groaned. 

"You with me?" Derek asked. 

"Sort of," Stiles whispered. He whined. "I don't want to hurt my dad, Derek." 

"Then, fight," Derek growled. 

"They're hunting someone… they're after someone---" 

Derek gave him a shake. "Who is it?" 

Stiles reached out, tentatively, along the bond the alpha was trying to forge with him. Something snapped into place; it was as if Stiles could see with the rogue alpha's eyes. He could see school buses, he could see the shadows the alpha created as they prowled. 

And then he was looking up at Derek, into his glowing blue eyes. 

"At the school," Stiles mumbled. "I don't know why." 

"Okay. I'm going to go check it out. You're going home." 

Stiles frowned. "No way, man. I'm coming with you." 

"And if the alpha roars at you again?" Derek asked. 

"Then, I think about my dad. My dad who I would never hurt, or let be hurt, so long as I've got a pulse," Stiles growled, pushing up into Derek's hold on his body. "I would fight _anyone_ who gets between us." 

Derek smirked. "Looks like you may have found your anchor," he said. He brushed his hand over Stiles' jaw. "You shifted back to kid." 

"M'not a kid," Stiles muttered. 

Derek made a huffing sound. "Sure, kid." 

"Are we gonna go see what they're up to?" Stiles asked. 

"You think you can fight the alpha when they want you to hunt with them?" Derek asked. 

Stiles looked up into Derek's face. Derek was straddling his waist, pinning him to the ground, and he looked fiercely determined to keep Stiles down there. Considering his question was much more difficult when Stiles realised how comfortable Derek's weight was as it sat upon him. He felt steady and safe and a part of something---something like _pack_ \---and the fear of the rogue alpha faded into the background hum of all his other thoughts. 

"If… if you're there, yeah, I think so," Stiles said. "Between you and the need to keep my dad safe… feels like I might have it. At least enough to investigate what's going on. Maybe we'll figure out what their next move is." 

Derek nodded and pushed himself off of Stiles' body. Then, he offered Stiles his hand, which Stiles accepted and used to pull himself into a standing position. 

"You wanna run there?" Derek asked. 

The idea of running alongside Derek sent a shiver of excitement running up Stiles' spine. He grinned and opened his mouth to share that excitement, but he reined it back in time to avoid looking too geekish. 

"I… uh, sure, if you want," Stiles said, feigning nonchalance. "Would probably be better if our vehicles aren't caught at the scene of Monster Mayhem's latest… mayhem." 

Derek's lips twitched in silent response.

###

As Stiles rushed Derek and promptly hit the ground, Scott winced. He hadn't been sure what he'd see when he followed Stiles, but he and Derek Hale sparring hadn't been on his list of possibilities.

 _Something_ was going on between them, though. Scott was sure about that. Derek was bad news and he was dragging Stiles down to his depths. For all Scott knew, Derek killed someone and was training Stiles to follow him in his life of murderous crime. 

But, he couldn't just jump in there. He knew Stiles; he knew that confronting him would only result in a fight. And if Derek got involved, Scott didn't like his chances of keeping his body in one very alive piece. He couldn't confront either of them there, but he could play witness for as long as it took to figure out what Derek's endgame was and to have some sort of proof of wrongdoing that he could take to the Sheriff. If he could convince the Sheriff that Derek was dangerous---and that he had plans to suck Stiles into his life of crime---then Derek would be arrested and Scott could have his friend again. 

Scott watched Stiles take another fall, thanks to a well-aimed hit from Derek. He watched Stiles pull himself back up onto his feet. He wished he could hear their conversation, but he didn't want to get any closer in case Derek's hearing and focus was better than Stiles' observational skills. So, he had to settle for watching. 

He almost cheered when Stiles slid across the ground, between Derek's legs, and leapt onto his back. He almost jeered when Derek knocked Stiles down in his moment of celebration. 

He almost shouted--- _"Get away from my friend, you sicko!"_ \---when Derek pulled Stiles in against his body and held him close. He almost vomited when Stiles returned the gesture with a hug of his own. 

Scott didn't understand. 

When Stiles screamed and Derek pinned him back to the ground, their voices loud but their words muffled, Scott wanted to rush forward into the clearing and separate them. Stiles was in distress! Shouting at him clearly wasn't the best strategy---

But then Stiles stopped fighting Derek and Derek's body lifted off of Stiles and they were standing again. 

Scott _wished_ he could hear what they were saying. He was certain that if he could hear them he'd get the evidence he needed more quickly. 

But. 

He had tried to follow Derek earlier, from a closer distance, and he was pretty sure Derek knew someone was following him. Derek kept looking around and moving so quickly that Scott lost him twice before he gave up and moved onto following Stiles. 

So, he knew he had to be careful around Derek and his creepy serial killer skills. 

When they started jogging, Scott bit back a groan. On one hand, he was glad they weren't heading towards their cars (because Scott's car was there, too), but on the other hand, he wasn't eager to spend his evening trekking through the forest. 

For Stiles, though, he would do it.

###

Derek watched Stiles as he looked at the mangled bus. As soon as he'd met Stiles and his many, _many_ questions (because the two went hand-in-hand as far as Derek could tell), Derek knew his life would never be the same.

He'd thought that when he lost Paige, and then his family, and _then_ Laura, too, but those life-altering losses came with more darkness and another weight for his heart to bear. 

Stiles, in contrast, came with… 

Well, Derek didn't know what it was, except that it confused him. 

Stiles wasn't angry or nearly feral. He was enthusiastic and inquisitive. He wasn't asking Derek to make promises he didn't know if he could keep. He just wanted to learn how to not hurt the people in his life. 

His ability to compartmentalize and adapt impressed Derek. He'd encountered other bitten wolves who couldn't do that after weeks of effort (or lack of effort), and he remembered when his young cousins and siblings couldn't achieve control even after years of full moons. 

Even he'd had trouble with the change until he turned sixteen. 

And Stiles, so far, was doing much better than Derek ever imagined he would. 

"Well, first," Stiles said, "gross." 

Derek snorted. "And second?" 

"Why a bus driver?" Stiles replied. "I mean… this is a lot of _gross_ for a bus driver." 

Derek frowned. "What if he's just… who the alpha found first?" 

Stiles dismissed Derek's suggestion with a shake of his head. "It's not that late, the sun's barely set," he said. "There are tons of people still out and about. People in wide, open spaces. Much easier to grab one of them than this guy. His jacket's here. Lunch bag, too. He probably brought the bus back when Monster Mayhem showed up." 

"What route does he drive?" Derek asked. 

"Hey! That's a great question!" Stiles exclaimed. "You got some brain game, too, huh?" 

Derek hated that his cheeks flushed. He ducked his head to try to hide the expression from Stiles. 

"Lemme just get the guy's name…" 

When Stiles hopped up the bus steps, Derek looked around. The police hadn't yet been called to the scene---and Derek wanted to get out of there before they arrived. As he surveilled their surroundings, he tried to extend his senses as far as he could. He couldn't hear any vehicles approaching, but he could hear someone breathing on the other side of the bus lot. It was worrying, but only mildly, so he turned his attention back to Stiles. 

"You done yet, Detective?" Derek asked. 

He heard Stiles snort before he saw his head pop up. "Garrison Myers," Stiles said, waving a piece of official looking paper in the air. "No clue who he is, but I will do some Google-fu later and see what comes up." 

Derek nodded. "Okay. You sense anything from the alpha?" 

He almost smiled when Stiles tilted his head back and sniffed the air; he managed to rein in the impulse by the time Stiles was looking at him again. 

"Anger. And… pleasure? Maybe? How do I know that?" 

"No idea," Derek replied. "Maybe it just gets hardwired into your brain with the change. We always knew base emotions." 

Stiles' face scrunched up as he contemplated Derek's answer. Then, he shrugged. 

"Like a pre-programmed lizard- or hindbrain or whatever? Sure. I'll buy that," he said. 

Derek snorted. "Great. Can we get out of here now?" 

"Nervous?"

"Of being caught next to a blood-soaked bus? No, of course not," Derek shot back. 

"What if I miss a clue?" Stiles asked. 

"Then your dad will find it," Derek told him. "If the cops find me here, I'll either be a witness or a suspect and Argent will be able to---"

"Find you. Right. Crap. Of course," Stiles said as he bounded out of the bus. He spared a glance for the mess behind him before clapping a hand to Derek's shoulder. "Wanna run some more?"

"Will it help you with your… investigation?" 

Stiles smiled and nodded. "Yeah, actually. Extra exercise soothes the wild ADHD beast." 

Derek wouldn't say it out loud, but he found it interesting that the bite, known for healing a myriad of conditions, chose to leave Stiles' brain the way it was. For all that parents and psychiatrists treated attention-deficit disorders like a problem that needed to be fixed, the bite did not see it that way. Stiles' brain worked differently, and that was not a problem that needed a cure. It fascinated him. He wondered how Stiles would continue to process the changes in his life. Would it affect him in other ways? What sort of werewolf would he become? Derek was looking forward to finding out how his mind would adapt to the changes in Stiles' live. 

"All right," Derek agreed. 

Stiles pumped a fist into the air. In his enthusiasm, he bumped into Derek, and Derek put an arm on his back to steady him. The thrum of _pack_ , something he hadn't felt since Laura left him to return to Beacon Hills, vibrated along his nerves. He didn't know what to make of that; it was as unsettling as it was comforting. He wasn't alone---and he didn't know if he could trust in that. 

"Don't shift until we get to the trees," Derek added in a quiet voice. "Someone's over by the other fence." 

"Monster Mayhem?" 

Derek scowled; he hated that nickname as much as he wanted to laugh at it. "No. Someone. Human. Probably not a hunter." 

"How do you know?" 

"They usually smell like wolfsbane or mountain ash and gun oil," Derek replied. "It'll make your nose itch when you're close enough to catch it." 

Stiles nodded. "Good information to have."

"C'mon, let's get out of here. There's no way someone hasn't found the blood trail by now," Derek grumbled, trying again to get away from the scene of the crime. "And no, we're not following it. All there's going to be is a dead body." 

"Sliced in two?" Stiles asked. 

Derek frowned. "No. That wasn't… the alpha." 

"How do you know?" 

"The cut was too smooth. I'm betting it was hunters. I've seen them do it with live bodies before," Derek admitted, turning away from Stiles so he couldn't see how weak the memories made Derek feel. 

"Why would---bait?" 

Derek swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Probably," he whispered. 

"To lure you in, and if you were pack with Double-Em, then to lure them in, too," Stiles said, thinking out loud. "That is _evil."_

Derek nodded. 

And then he jumped when Stiles' arms and body came around and against him. 

"I am sorry," Stiles whispered. "You don't deserve any of what's been happening." 

_But I do!_ was what Derek wanted to say. Fear of losing the one packmate he hadn't (yet) managed to lose or kill kept him silent. When Stiles learned the truth, he'd run. He'd find another pack. Derek couldn't take the rogue alpha without Stiles as support; he couldn't avenge his sister's death without the packmate he never thought he'd need. He had to keep his truth to himself until those goals were achieved. 

"You don't know anything about me," Derek muttered. 

"Well, maybe not," Stiles agreed. "But you helped me when you could have left me to Monster Mayhem. Or the hunters. And sure, you need help, but… I'm getting good vibes." 

"About us?" 

"As a pack, yeah," Stiles said, his face still pressed against Derek's back. "It doesn't feel bad. It feels…" 

"Good?" 

Stiles snorted out a little laugh. "Yeah." 

"Well, you've got the brains and I've got the muscle," Derek joked. "No wonder we're a good matched pair." 

Laughing again, Stiles rubbed his face against the leather jacket Derek was wearing. "You are a riot," Stiles murmured. "I like this side of you." 

"My back?" 

Stiles nudged him in the ribs. "No, the quippy side. I thought you were all eyebrows of doom and heavy sighs, but you got skills in the funny department, too!" 

"Thanks?" 

"You're welcome!" Stiles replied. "Now, let's go for that run." 

Derek nodded and waited for Stiles to release him before taking off in the opposite direction of the blood. By the time they vaulted the fence, the sound of breathing had faded. Derek dismissed the person as unimportant; it was easy to do when the alpha was still out there and when he (and Stiles) still had so much to investigate and plan.

#####

"Hey, Scott. Is my son with you?"

Scott smiled a bit and shook his head. Last time he'd seen Stiles, he was running away from a crime scene with Derek Hale at his side. With no chance of Stiles stopping by the station, Scott figured it would be the best time to tip off the Sheriff that Derek Hale was the best suspect he didn't know he had. 

"I, uh, was actually hoping to talk to you," Scott said. 

"About Stiles?" John asked. "Son, I know you remember the sixth grade. You came to me about Stiles and the bullies, and---" 

"I know, I know," Scott said, wincing as he remembered the way Stiles ignored him for two weeks after Scott told John that Stiles was being bullied more than usual. "But, this is serious. And not about Stiles. Not really." 

After a long hard look that could put Scott's mother's stern expression to shame, John nodded and gestured Scott into his office. Scott waited until the door was closed before he prepared to tell John (almost) everything he'd seen over the last couple of days. 

He knew it was the right thing to do. He had to save Stiles from getting too wrapped up in Derek Hale's life of crime. 

Scott sucked in a deep breath and said, "I think you should bring Derek Hale in for questioning." 

John's eyebrows jumped up towards his hairline. "You do? Wait--- _Derek_ Hale's in town, too?" 

"Too?" 

John shook his head. "That's police business," he said. "Now. Tell me. Why do you think Derek Hale's involved in… what is it, exactly?" 

"The dead body in the woods," Scott replied. "It was so close to his property---" 

"It's not his property," John interjected, his voice quiet and calm. "The county took it on after he and and his sister left." 

"But, he's back now. And the body was out there, right? And I saw him by another crime scene---" 

"Another crime scene?" 

"Well. Um, maybe?" 

"Is this the school bus?" John asked. 

Scott nodded. 

John snorted. "And what were you doing around there this evening?" 

"I, um, might have been following him?" Scott replied. 

John moved across the room to his desk and perched himself on the edge. "Lemme guess," he said, "this is the part that has to do with Stiles. You saw him and Derek talking or something?" 

"Yes! Stiles has started running, and he's crossed paths with Derek a couple times---and I know he's up to no good! Not Stiles---Derek. I don't want him to hurt Stiles," Scott said. "I just… I'm trying to keep him safe." 

Scott knew he'd screwed up a bit, revealing too much of his activities, and he cringed when he felt John send another one of his parental glares his way. 

"Are you following Stiles, too, Scott?" John asked. 

"Um… maybe? A little?" 

John snorted, his mouth curving into a faint trace of a smile. "Scott, I appreciate your efforts, but I do not condone your methods," he said. "And, I suspect Stiles wouldn't either, if he knew you were following him around town." 

"But, Derek---" 

"Hasn't done anything wrong," he interrupted. "I know you think his behaviour is suspicious---and maybe it is, given that he's been at two crime scenes---but if it were anyone else you were talking to, Scott, you could get yourself into trouble. You could start a rumour that would ruin a young man's life." 

"But---" 

John sighed. "If I promise to talk to him, will you promise to stop following Stiles?" 

Scott frowned. "But, what if Stiles gets into a bad situation?" 

"And what if Stiles catches you?" John asked. "Because you and I both know that he'd have some choice words about your actions here. You wanna talk about a bad situation…" 

After a sigh of his own, Scott dropped down onto the couch and put his head in his hands. He knew Stiles would be mad if he knew Scott had been following him around, but what else could he do when Stiles was making dumb choices? 

"Scott, what's this about? I know you two stopped spending all your time together, but that's normal. You guys have been friends for too long to let a little distance come between you," John said. "Stiles hasn't talked to me about it, so I don't know what's going on with you two, but I have a set of eyeballs and a brain that works, so I've noticed you two aren't in each other's back pockets like you usually are." 

"What? We're fine! There's nothing wrong with us." 

"You sure about that?" John asked. 

"Of course I am!" Scott exclaimed. "It's just… he's… I don't want him to get into trouble." 

"I can appreciate that---and I do, believe me," John said. "But, I think you should also keep in mind that people are allowed to change." 

"So Stiles just suddenly likes running for a couple hours every day?" 

Scott _hated_ the way John chuckled, as if the whole thing was so hilarious to him, as if Scott was being ridiculous. He wanted to shout, to force John _somehow_ to see things from Scott's perspective, but he didn't have the words to make it happen. 

"Personally, I think he hates it, but it's keeping him from using those meds and he hates those more," John said. "And I like seeing him eating again. He actually has an appetite for the first time since he started taking those pills." 

Rocked by that piece of information, Scott blinked a couple times before blurting out, "That's huge!" 

John smiled. "Yeah, it is. So, how about we let Stiles figure out how to handle his affairs---without spying on him?" 

Scott frowned. "You promise you'll bring Hale in for questioning?" 

John snorted. "I promise I'll have a conversation with him."

"Then… I'll stop following Stiles and Derek," Scott replied. 

As if he knew what Scott was planning, John arched an eyebrow and asked, "You promise?" 

Scott sighed; John laughed. 

"Fine. I promise." 

John eased off of his desk perch and walked across the room to pat his hand down onto Scott's shoulder. "Thank you, son," he said. "Now, get out of here. Go have fun---or do your homework." 

Scott grimaced as he stood up and shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. "I think I'll choose fun." 

"Smart man," John said, clapping his hand to Scott's shoulder once more before ushering him out of the office.

#####

The day started with watching a group of deputies comb the mangled, bloody bus for evidence and discover a _still alive_ Garrison Myers---all from his seat in chemistry class---and it seemed to be ending with Stiles rushing to the station to somehow save Derek from his dad and his deputies and whatever hunter would come to get him.

When Scott told him, via text, that he saw John putting Derek in his cruiser, Stiles grabbed his stuff and ran from Harris' detention---despite his teacher's shouting, and Stiles knew he'd be paying for that later---and out of the school. 

He rushed into his vehicle. While driving, he probably broke a couple traffic laws, but he didn't care. He couldn't leave Derek there, to be caught by the hunters. He couldn't let Derek be arrested for something he didn't do! 

It was weird how much his life had changed, in just a few days. Derek Hale wasn't even on his radar before meeting Monster Mayhem. Hell, he wasn't even in town before then! They didn't know each other very well, but Derek had become an important part of his life. There was a bond between them; it was still new and fragile, but it was there and thrumming with energy. Stiles didn't know if Derek could feel it, too, and he didn't care. He could feel it and he was going to do everything he could to keep it safe! 

Beyond that bond, and more (or less) seriously, Derek was the only person he could trust to teach him to manage his new strength and abilities. If he lost Derek he would lose his only support; if he lost Derek he could easily become the hunters' new target. 

He was not going to lose Derek. 

He flailed and floundered his way into the station, past the front desk guard who incorrectly assumed he was bringing an afternoon snack for his father and into his father's office where he and Derek were sitting on the couch, talking quietly and _really_ informally for an official investigation. 

"Stiles?" John asked. "What are you doing here?" 

"It… it wasn't Derek. He's not---he didn't do anything wrong---" 

John smiled a bit. "I know," he said. 

"You know? Wait. What?" 

John chuckled. "Mister Hale, thank you for coming in here and answering my questions," he said. "Would you mind waiting a minute outside for me to scold my son before I give you a lift to where you're staying?" 

Derek's lips twitched into a tiny smile. "I'll just walk. It's not that far from here." 

A tiny spark of an idea settled in Stiles' head. Before he could analyse the idea too much, he was opening his mouth and putting his plan into action. 

"You just don't want my dad to know you're staying at the old house," Stiles muttered. 

John's eyes widened. And then he sighed. "Really?" he asked. "Well, that's one way to keep a low profile and look suspicious at the same time. No wonder Scott thought---" 

"Scott?" Stiles interjected. "Scott told you Derek was---oh my _god_ , I don't believe him! Who does he think he is?! I told him! And he just doesn't listen! Of all the---" 

"Calm down, son," John said, taking his turn to interrupt. "Scott thought he was protecting you." 

"By getting an innocent person arrested?!" 

"Hale's not under arrest," John said. "I know he didn't do anything wrong." 

Derek lifted his head and met Stiles' eyes. "I told him the first victim… I thought it could be Laura, because she stopped calling me after she got here," he said. "She has a tattoo on her ankle. Three spirals. Your dad brought me here to confirm it." 

Stiles' anger at Scott faded in the face of Derek's sadness. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Playing along with the scheme he guessed Derek had put in place, he said, "I know you were worried it could be, when you asked me if I'd seen her around town." 

Derek nodded and didn't say anything. 

John clapped his hands to his knees once and then stood. "All right. This is what we're going to do. Hale, I'm going to drive you to your old house, you're going to grab your things, and then you're coming back into town with me," he said. "Stiles, you are going back to our house and you are going to put fresh sheets on the bed in our guest room. And start dinner. Steak. No heart smart crap because we'll have company." 

Stiles grinned and nodded when Derek blinked in surprise. 

"Sir, I can't let you---if they're after me, too, that will put you and your son in danger, and that's too much risk," Derek protested. 

"I cannot in good conscience let you live in that… that place," John said. "And, you are a citizen of Beacon Hills, the community I'm sworn to protect. We have no way to know that they're after you in particular. The latest victim isn't connected to your family---" 

"As far as we know," Derek grumbled. 

"You won't get Dad to change his mind when he knows he's right," Stiles said. "It's kind of his superpower." 

"Stubborness in the face of disaster?" Derek asked. 

Stiles snorted. "Pretty much. I've been training him all his life for a moment like this." 

John chuckled and patted his hand to Stiles' shoulder. "Yes, you have. So, why don't you head home and let Mister Hale and I finish up here?" 

Relieved that his spark of an idea morphed into a solid plan, that Derek would be safe, that everything worked out in the end, Stiles nodded and grinned at both of them before bouncing out of the office---

\---and straight into Chris Argent. 

_Maaaan_ , his scent made Stiles' sinuses _itch!_

"Fu----uhhh, sorry about that," Stiles said. 

"No problem," Chris said, his face turning into some sort of grimace that Stiles suspected was his attempt at a polite smile. "Is the Sheriff in?" 

"Yes, but he's with someone right now," Stiles replied. He knew his body language was defensive, and he was trying to relax it, but the hunter of hunters wanted to talk to his dad who was with Derek, and Stiles couldn't just walk away without knowing if he meant either of them harm. "Could take a while. Why don't you come back later?" 

Chris' grimace turned into a smirk. "Nah, I'll just wait out here. Thanks, kid." 

As curious as he was, Stiles knew he couldn't interrogate Allison's dad without raising serious suspicion. He had a strong feeling that Derek knew Argent was outside the office, since Derek's senses were stronger than Stiles' senses, so he wasn't leaving Derek unaware of the change in his situation. He also knew John wouldn't let Argent hurt Derek---and Argent probably wouldn't attack Derek in front of everyone in the station. 

But, he didn't like leaving Derek there without support. 

_"I can see Chris Argent waiting outside,"_ Stiles heard Derek saying, as he walked past Argent. _"I'll go and you can---"_

Stiles strained to hear his father say _"Or you can stay in here and I'll go out there and see what he wants, and then we'll go get your stuff."_

Derek was in good hands. Stiles smiled and continued on his way out of the station. He had faith in his father's keen mind---although he didn't want it to be so keen that he figured out his son was no longer strictly human---and his father's protective instincts. 

He hopped back into his jeep, feeling like they'd all sideswiped a crisis of some sort; relief made him breathe out a shaky laugh before he could slam the key into the ignition and start the trip to his house.

###

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Derek growled, as soon as he and Stiles were alone in the guest room.

"I'm a genius, you mean," Stiles protested. 

Derek gestured around the bedroom. "Are you kidding me?" he snarled. "I'm here, in the Sheriff's house, an easy target for---" 

"And you weren't an easi _er_ target at the Hale House?" Stiles interrupted. "You are my pack---not Monster Mayhem, no matter what they think. I saw an opportunity to get you someplace safer and I took it before I could think myself out of it." 

"Your dad should not be forced into the middle of my mess!" 

"And he won't be," Stiles said. "I don't think either of us are planning to tell him any time soon, and I have a hard time believing the hunters would go to the town's Sheriff and tell him about werewolves. Plus, they don't exactly operate inside the law, so..." 

"So?" Derek prompted when Stiles stopped talking. 

"They burned your…" 

Derek's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "It was ruled an accident," he said. "But, I know it was them." 

"No proof?" 

He shook his head. 

"Okay. So that's what we need to figure out," Stiles said. "If we figure it out, with proof, we can go to Dad and get him to reopen the case. And then, he can go after them legitimately. When the worst of the worst is behind bars, we'll be safer. _Aaaand_ , if the people involved are the people Monster Mayhem's going after---because that's the only big thing in this sleepy place that I can think of that would call for murder-level revenge---then we can keep him from turning or killing more people if we can keep them out of reach of his teeth and claws." 

It wasn't a bad plan, but Derek did not like where it would start---because he knew Stiles would start with asking him questions about what he remembered. It was where everyone started when investigating the fire. 

Derek frowned. "You don't know what they're like," he muttered. "They're…" 

"Evil, I know." 

After a shake of his head, Derek said, "You have no idea, Stiles. And investigating them will put you in danger." 

Stiles arched an eyebrow. "More danger than I'm already in?" 

"Yes!" Derek exclaimed. 

"Well, catching the bad guys should help reduce the danger!" Stiles insisted. "And! You are safer here than you would ever be at your old house. Your car's in the garage. There's no reason for them to suspect Dad would invite you here. Unless they're staking us out, they're not going to find you here. And it might be totally selfish, but I like the idea of you being close. In case I have any problems." 

"And how will you explain me to Scott?" 

Stiles snorted. "Well, first, if he thinks he still has open access to the Stilinski house, he's mistaken," he said. "And second… well, I don't know yet. I can't… I won't be able to talk to him any time soon without shouting at him. So that gives me some time." 

"He must be worried about you," Derek said. 

"I'm surprised he noticed I exist long enough to worry about me," Stiles grumbled. "I'm sorry he outed you to my dad." 

Derek frowned. He'd never been particularly close with his class- and teammates. He'd had his pack---for support, for play---and he'd been wary of letting anyone else into his life. Paige had been an aberration in his pattern of behaviour; Kate had been his punishment. After everything, there had only been Laura. 

But, he had Stiles, it seemed---at least for however long it took Stiles to realise that Derek was unsuitable to be pack. 

And Stiles had Scott. 

"It's better it was the Sheriff than Argent. You… should talk to him," Derek said. "That's what friends do. Right?" 

"Is that what he did when he went behind my back and talked to my dad?" Stiles asked. 

"You're teenagers." 

Stiles snorted. "So?" 

"So, we all make mistakes when we're teenagers," Derek said. 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah… but. This… whatever he did… it's not cool." 

"Then tell him that," Derek said. 

"Oh, I will." 

Derek almost smiled at the look of determination on Stiles' face. For a moment, all the destruction and grief in his life faded to the background. 

"If you want to tell him I'm here, fine," Derek mumbled. "But, I'd---" 

"Scottie doesn't get to do what he did and then get all the inner sanctum secrets," Stiles interrupted. "Your location is safe with me---and with Dad." 

"He kept me a secret from Argent," Derek admitted. "I was surprised." 

"Dad plays things close to the vest when his spidey-sense is tingling," Stiles said, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "What was Argent doing there, anyway?" 

"Dropping off paperwork for his business. And trying to solicit sales from your dad," Derek said. 

Stiles frowned. "Business?"

"He's an arms dealer," Derek replied. "A nice, legit cover story for why he owns almost every weapon in existence." 

After a sigh, Stiles said, "That's convenient." 

"Yeah," Derek agreed. 

"All right. So, I'll be steering clear of him for the rest of my life, werewolfiness or not," Stiles muttered before he ran his hands over his head. "You were right about the nose itch, by the way. Is that what wolfsbane smells like? Nose itch?" 

"Sometimes it smells like a flowering plant, too, but I think it's the way they process---or weaponize---it, that makes it… itch," Derek explained. "There are different varieties, but they all smell more or less the same." 

"And mountain ash?" Stiles asked. 

"Smells like wood," Derek replied. 

Stiles snorted. "All right." 

Derek smiled a little bit. "You won't be able to touch it. If it's used in a house, like baseboards or something, you could be trapped." 

"Who would do that?" Stiles asked. 

"Hunters or witches, maybe," Derek replied. His smile vanished. "Hunters also turn it into a powder. They, uh, use it for temporary barriers and traps. We can't cross it." 

Feeling Stiles' gaze on him, Derek shifted his weight and kept his own eyes focused on a spot on the carpet. He didn't want to think about it, but his mind was weak; memories of pressing on the barrier around the house, while hearing his family screaming over the _roar_ of the fire, filtered forward until he was no longer aware of his immediate surroundings. 

When a hand touched his shoulder, Derek snarled. 

"Easy, big guy," Stiles murmured. 

Derek's ferocity faded when he realised he was looking into Stiles' worried face. "Sorry," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "When's your dad coming back?" 

"Probably in an hour. He said he wouldn't be late. Wanna help me make supper?" 

Since the alternative was brooding in the privacy of the guest room and thinking more about his pain, Derek nodded. Helping around the house might prevent the Sheriff from seeing him as a burden, and might grant Derek more time in a safer residence.

#####

Stiles yawned and ran a hand over his face as he walked. He'd been up too late, thinking about all the things he didn't yet know (which was a really frustrating activity), and his day was made exponentially longer because Scott wouldn't take his advice to "back the eff off" seriously.

Everywhere Stiles went---his classes, his locker, the quad, the cafeteria---Scott and Allison---because of course Scott had to bring Allison with him---were sure to follow. 

Even when Stiles ducked into the bathroom, Scott---thankfully, sans Allison---followed him. 

Scott's inability to respect that Stiles needed time and space was amazing. Every time Stiles told Scott that he needed time instead of another presentation of Scott's defense, Scott ignored him and continued to plead his case. 

Clearly, Scott didn't care about Stiles' immediate feelings. He cared about fixing their friendship, but it wasn't so Stiles wasn't hurting anymore. Instead, Stiles felt it was so Scott wasn't in trouble anymore. And that bothered Stiles more than he could articulate. 

Did Allison's affections addle Scott so much that he forgot how to apologise to his best friend for being a sneaky, assuming jerkface?!

Stiles had one class left---and five minutes left to get to that class---and he was looking forward to the peace that calculus (without Scott) would bring. He wanted to sit at his desk in the back of the classroom and solve puzzles and tune out all the ridiculousness in his life. 

Crossing one of the main hallways, a familiar scent caught his attention. Turning towards _home_ , Stiles saw his father talking with the principal. 

_"Sheriff, I don't know how I can help---"_

_"I'm not expecting you to join up with the wildlife service or anything, Hal. Just, with these animal attacks, if you could suggest to the student body to stay inside in the evenings, that would be best. We'll be following up with citizens, on the radio and door-to-door,"_ John said, his hands raised in a placating gesture. 

Stiles watched as Principal Thomas nodded. _"All right. That I can do,"_ he said. 

_"Thank you,"_ John said, relief crystal clear in his voice even from a distance. _"We want everyone under the age of eighteen to be in their homes by nine-thirty p.m."_

Principal Thomas nodded and headed back into his office. 

Stiles watched his dad roll his shoulders, trying to displace some of his day's tension. He thought about ducking away, running to class before John could see him, and then Stiles changed his mind and walked towards him. 

"Hey, Stiles," John said, greeting him with a smile. 

"Everything okay?" Stiles asked. 

John nodded. "Of course. Just… well, we're going to have a curfew in place for a little while, until we can be sure there are no more animals hunting." 

Stiles frowned. "That's what attacked the bus driver?" 

"Well, it wasn't a person," John replied. "Don't repeat this to anyone, son, but there were no knife or weapon marks. Looks like claws and teeth. I'm heading over to Doc Deaton later to ask him what he thinks of the wounds." 

With a nod, Stiles said, "Hopefully he'll be able to help." 

"Hopefully," John agreed. 

Stiles looked off into the distance, beyond John's shoulder. He could see Scott watching him, Allison and Lydia talking behind him. The girls were in his calculus class; Scott was probably walking with them in hopes of getting a chance to convince Stiles he was in the right. 

Biting back a growl, Stiles focused on his father. "Hey, um… this bus driver guy." 

"Yes…" 

"Was he always a bus driver?" Stiles asked. "Or does he work part-time somewhere else?"

John's eyes narrowed. "You think a mountain lion is holding a grudge against a former arson investigator?" 

_"No, but I think a feral werewolf is holding a grudge against a former arson investigator,"_ is what Stiles wanted to say as soon as he heard and processed that new bit of information. 

Instead, Stiles shook his head. "Nah, just wondering if… maybe he's a butcher or hunter in his spare time. Might explain why a wild animal followed him, in a weird way, y'know?" 

"Not as far as I know," John said. "Don't you have class?" 

"Yep. One more to go," Stiles replied. "Just… waiting until the bell." 

John looked behind him and saw Scott and Allison. When he turned back to Stiles, he smiled a little bit. "What's going on there?" he asked. 

Stiles frowned. "He keeps trying to explain." 

"Have you let him yet?" 

"I told him I need time and space," Stiles said. "What he did… I don't care why he thinks he did it right now. He accused someone of murder. And snuck around town following me. If he can't understand why I need time of space---" 

"He was worried---" 

"He wasn't worried about me until he looked away from Allison's pouty lips and realised I'd found other things to do with the time I wasn't spending with him," Stiles interrupted. "Don't defend him. He's practically my brother---that won't ever change---but this time, he's in the wrong. And until he realises that… I want him to stay out of my way." 

"Ten-four, Deputy Stilinski," John teased. "Now, please try to get home at a decent hour, all right? When I left this morning, Derek was baking---" 

"Derek bakes?" Stiles interrupted. 

John snorted. "Apparently. Anyway, I don't think he likes laying low too much, or maybe he's trying to pay us back, so I'm hoping you can distract him enough to forget all that." 

"I… yeah. Now that I know he can bake, I'll enlist him to help with dinner," Stiles said. 

Before he could open his mouth to say more, the bell sounded. Stiles groaned---he was late, again, _damn it_ \---and rubbed his hands over his head. 

"Try to be apologetic and maybe you won't get detention," John advised. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and waved at his father. It was good advice, but he wasn't going to admit it. He trudged off in the direction of his calculus class, noting that Scott had finally disappeared from the hallway, and pulled out his phone as he walked. He texted a quick message to Derek--- _Just found out GW is a former arson investigator_ \---and ducked into class. 

The only seat left was the one behind Allison and next to Lydia. Since the teacher wasn't yet in the room, Stiles slid into the chair without a display of remorse and exhaled slowly. Around him, his fellow students were chatting, unconcerned that their teacher was later than they'd been for class. It was peaceful; Stiles was able to centre himself with a few deep breaths, pulling his senses in before letting them out and exploring the sights and sounds around him. 

"You know, he's just worried about you." 

Stiles blinked and looked up to find himself meeting Allison's somber gaze. He retracted his senses and focused on her, the way Derek taught him the last time he'd made Stiles run after scents and sounds in the woods. Her heartbeat was steady; she didn't have wolfsbane on her skin or clothing. His senses told him she was safe; but, he didn't think Allison would ever be safe. 

"Allison, we don't know each other very well yet, so lemme just tell you that Scott having you plead his case isn't going to put him back in my good books," Stiles said. 

She smiled a little, shy smile. "I figured as much," she said. "I'm just saying… for myself. Sometimes, we do dumb things for the people we care about." 

"Well, you better brace yourself, because Scott---god, I love him, but---" 

Allison's smile grew as a laugh bubbled out of her mouth. "I figured that out, too," she said. 

Her smile softened, fading into an expression of concern. If Stiles hadn't known she came from a long line of hunters, he might have been tricked by the look on her face; he could believe that she was a good person, but he knew he could never trust her. 

The look of concern morphed into something a bit more amused. Stiles waited, wondering what she was going to say. 

"He told Jackson he's a good bowler," Allison whispered. "We're going on a double date, and---" 

"He is not a good bowler," Stiles whispered back. "I hope you are, because Lydia and Jackson will _cream_ you otherwise. Those two practice. There isn't much to do in Beacon Hills." 

Lydia huffed. When Stiles looked at her, she was smirking. 

"He's not wrong," Lydia said. 

Stiles snorted. As Allison turned, her focus more on Lydia than Stiles as they discussed their night's plans, Stiles relaxed. He didn't have to discuss his Scott-shaped frustrations with Scott's girlfriend if she were distracted. 

Just as Allison turned back to Stiles, as if she realised she hadn't yet achieved her mission, their teacher swept into the room with a stack of stapled papers. Hearing her confirm that there was a pop quiz was music to Stiles' overly sensitive ears. 

He was so happy to avoid finishing their conversation that he could have kissed Missus Andrews right on her lipstick-smudged mouth.

#####

"Hey, Scott," John said as he walked into the examination room behind Deaton. He smiled sympathetically when he noticed Scott's slumped shoulders. "Stiles is still mad, huh?"

Scott nodded. "He wouldn't let me explain." 

Since he'd talked with Stiles at school, John expected that. Stiles loved his family---both blood and made---with all his heart. But, mistreatment of his trust and loyalty resulted in punishment. John had never seen those gifts revoked once they'd been given, and he doubted they would be in that particular case, but he knew Stiles would not yield to Scott before he was ready. 

Deaton looked from John to Scott before turning back to John and gesturing to the folder in his hands. 

"You said you had something for me to look at, Sheriff?" 

Setting aside Stiles' and Scott's issues, John nodded and put the folder down onto the examination table. He opened it; images of Garrison Myers' injuries looked back up at him. 

John sighed. He'd been on the phone with one of Sacramento Police Department's forensic experts in the morning, and all they could tell him was that it looked like a wild animal attack. Myers claimed he hadn't seen what had attacked him---which wasn't much help, either. He was hoping someone who treated animals of both domestic and wild varieties, someone like Alan Deaton, could help him narrow down the assailant to even a type of animal. 

"Sacramento still can't determine an animal," John said. "What do you think?" 

Deaton stepped forward, putting his hand down on the first photograph. "I'm not exactly an expert," he said. He stroked down the marks on Myers' torso before he picked up the photograph between his thumb and fingers. "This is the guy who was attacked on the bus?" 

"Yeah," John replied. "And we found wolf hairs on Laura Hale's body---" 

"It was Laura _Hale?"_ Scott asked, cutting in on their conversation. 

John turned and looked at Scott. "Yes, it was." 

He saw Scott's chest puff up in anger or frustration, and he knew what was coming. Before Scott could say anything, John raised his hand. He had to put a stop to Scott's fantastical beliefs before they caused more damage. 

"Scott. Listen to what I'm telling you. It wasn't Derek," John said, his voice flat and stern. "I know you think he's up to no good, but we've investigated him. He has an alibi for when his sister was killed, so even if you think he'd want to kill his only remaining family, I am telling you---as someone who cares about you _and_ as the Sheriff---that he is not responsible and you need to stop whatever this is." 

"But..." 

Deaton moved the photographs around, shuffling through them until he found the photographs of Laura Hale's lower body. He sighed. 

"This is… like with Garrison Myers, some sort of animal attack," Deaton said. He gestured to Scott. "Let me show you why," he offered. When Scott nodded jerkily and stepped towards the exam table, Deaton brushed his finger over some of the marks on Laura's body. "See these scratches?" 

Scott nodded again, once. "Yes…" 

"Those are too jagged and too deep to be done by human nails," he said. 

"Did the wild animal cut her in half, too?" Scott asked. 

John watched as something _dark_ crossed over Deaton's face. John knew her body had been mutilated after her death---and he knew it had been done with a blade---but he'd kept that bit of information away from everyone but the medical examiner and two trusted officers. It was bad enough that there was some sort of vicious predator in the woods around Beacon Hills; John didn't want the public worrying about someone desecrating remains on top of that. Still, despite not having the autopsy report, it seemed like Deaton knew something wasn't right about what had happened to Laura Hale's body. 

It's possible Deaton remembered the reports of a body from years ago, from before the fire at the Hale House, with an arrow shot through its neck and its body halved by a sword. John couldn't shake the thought that something was a little similar between the two cases---not since finding Laura's lower body in the woods. The causes of death were different, but the post-death mutilation was the same. 

John did not like the idea of someone desecrating the dead. It made his insides clench. 

"No, it did not," Deaton conceded. "That… well, I suppose it could be scavengers. If the torso had been… weakened." 

Scott was nodding, amazingly, but John could see through his body language that Deaton wasn't committing to his hypothesis. 

"A pack of coyotes could have pulled her body apart. We've seen that happen before. The more dominant tear off the biggest pieces, and then the more submissive take the scraps, and everyone goes to separate corners to enjoy their meals," Deaton continued. "I suspect the medical examiner studied tissue and bone samples and discovered the bites and claw marks happened before death, while the separation occurred after death." 

John nodded. "That's what her report says." 

Scott sighed. "All right, fine. You made your point." 

"Well, it's not fine," John said. "A girl is dead and a man was attacked. But, I can take some comfort from you giving me your word you're going to stop accusing people of murder, if that's what you're telling me." 

Nodding, Scott said, "I'll stop. As long as you guys stop showing me pictures like this." 

"Deal," John murmured. He pulled Scott in close for a half-hug, before releasing him. "Give Stiles some time to cool off, okay? Right now, he's still feeling betrayed." 

"But---" 

"I know you meant well, and I'm sure he does, too," John interrupted. "But, pushing him to listen to your reasoning before he's ready is just making him angrier." 

Scott frowned and bowed his head. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Sheriff," he mumbled. 

While sharing a small, amused smile with Deaton, John gave Scott's shoulder an affectionate pat. Deaton sent him into the kennels area, to check on the animals in their care, and Scott seemed relieved to get away from the photographs on the table. John wanted to sit him down and try to get to the bottom of whatever was going on between Scott and Stiles, but official business---unfortunately---had a higher priority at that moment. 

"It wasn't a pack of coyotes," Deaton said. 

"No," John agreed, good humour draining away. "That… that is another concern." 

"I can imagine," Deaton murmured. He set aside Laura Hale's photographs and returned to those of Garrison Myers. "Was there any forensic evidence left behind? Residue or dirt or---" 

"We found wolf hairs on Laura Hale's body," John interrupted in a quiet voice. "We're still working on Myers' trace evidence." 

Pursing his lips together in a picture of contemplation, Deaton kept his eyes trained on the photographs of the latest victim. John wondered what he was seeing and how his mind worked; he wondered how he could look at the damage and pair it with appropriate claws and fangs. 

"Well… it could be wolves," he said. "According to reports, they no longer consider California home, but they are highly migratory. They could have wandered in from another state… driven by impulse or a strong enough memory---" 

"Hold on," John interrupted. "Wolves have memories? Like us?" 

"Longer-term and associated with their primal drives, yes," Deaton replied. He pointed to marks near Myers' neck. "See this one here?" 

"Yeah." 

"Those are claw marks," Deaton explained. "A wolf would have gone for the throat or spinal cord with its teeth." 

With that image in his head, John winced. "So… what do you think? It's a mountain lion, instead?" 

"I… don't know," Deaton admitted. "A wolf could chase down its prey, hobbling it by tearing at the ankles---" he pointed to damage done to Myers' legs "---and then the throat." 

"So, it's possible?" John asked. 

Deaton's shrug left John wanting for strong leads and solid proof. He bit back his frustration---with considerable effort---and gathered up the photographs. After a deep breath, he looked at Deaton and forced himself to smile. 

"Any suggestions for me?" John asked. "I've already announced a curfew---mandatory for kids, suggested for adults---and asked fish and game to keep an eye out for strange animal behaviour---"

"Those are both good initiatives," Deaton interrupted. "You're looking for a predator who is cunning and dangerous. An animal is different from a person, in terms of motive---"

John took his turn to interrupt. "Hold on. Are you saying the animal picked these people for a reason?" 

Smiling a little, Deaton shrugged. "Probably not in the way you're thinking," he replied. "But, I'm certain, to the creature, there will have been a reason for each attack." 

Not sure what he thought about Deaton's remarks, John sighed and rubbed the back of his head. He nodded, unable to put together an adequate response, and thanked Deaton for his time before leaving the examination room and walking through the lobby to get to his car. 

"Crazy," John muttered once he was safely inside his vehicle. "Motive… right."

#####

When Derek returned to the Stilinski residence, the edge of fear he'd felt at the gas station had finally melted into anger.

He _hated_ the Argents. He feared them, too, but he also hated them. Every murder they committed, under the guise of protection, was an atrocity made worse because they believed they were doing what was right. They'd sent Kate to take advantage of a grieving boy; they'd murdered his family by fire. And when they were finished, they rejoiced while Derek and Laura abandoned their uncle to long term care and fled their territory. 

Before he left the dark safety of the garage, he forced himself to take a few deep breaths. His grip on the steering wheel slowly relaxed, with every exhale. 

"Derek?" 

He lifted his head and saw Stiles watching him, brows furrowed. So wrapped up in his thoughts, Derek hadn't heard him come into the structure. 

"What?" 

Stiles, frowning, walked towards the car. Once he was close enough to see the damage done to it, his eyes widened. 

"Holy shit! What happened? Are you okay?" 

"I went to see the guy… he… I think he was traumatized," Derek said. 

After tilting his head to one side, Stiles asked, "How do you figure?" 

"He kept apologising," Derek replied. "I have no idea why." 

"And did he also hurt your car?" Stiles asked. 

"No." 

Stiles snorted. "Did you do the damage in one of your surly bursts of energy?" 

Derek shook his head. 

"Street toughs?" 

"Argent," Derek admitted. "He and his friends cornered me at a gas station." 

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Stiles stared at him unblinkingly. It wasn't a challenge; Derek didn't feel a threat in his eyes. If anything, Stiles was looking at him with a cop's gaze, not trying to discern truth from lie but trying to put together pieces of a puzzle. 

"Which gas station?" 

That wasn't the question Derek expected. He was getting used to that---to Stiles choosing to ask an unexpected question when there were much more obvious choices. 

"The one a couple blocks from the hospital," Derek replied. 

Stiles' face lit up with a smile. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and unlocked the screen. After dialing a number, he winked at Derek and brought the phone up to his head. 

"Hey, Jerry," Stiles said as soon as the clerk answered his call. "Stiles here. Remember? The loser nerd who helped you pass math last year?" 

Derek snorted. 

_"Uh, yeah, sure. What do you want?"_

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Well, y'see… someone was at your fine establishment today and a couple thugs did a number on his car---a black Camaro, remember seeing it tonight?" 

_"Ohhh yeah. Sweet ride,"_ Jerry said. 

"Yeah, definitely. So, look, someone took a crowbar to his sweet ride, and he doesn't want to get the Sheriff's Department involved, but he does want to get some of the repairs covered by his insurance," Stiles explained. "And I was hoping you could do me a solid and get me a copy of tonight's security footage, under the radar like, y'know?" 

_"What's in it for me?"_

Derek snorted again. 

"You could call it your good deed of the month, build up some karma," Stiles replied. 

_"I'd rather get your Batman ninety-one,"_ Jerry said. 

Derek didn't know how much that comic issue was worth, but judging by the expression on Stiles' face it was worth more than a few dollars. He watched as Stiles closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded. 

"Yeah, okay. I'll bring it. Tonight?"

_"Sure. I'll copy the tape right now."_

After reopening his eyes, Stiles smiled. "Thanks, Jerry. See you in thirty minutes." 

He ended the call and pocketed his phone. Derek wanted to ask what he was planning---because he was clearly planning something---and then he wanted to thank Stiles. Under no illusions about his own abilities, Derek was beginning to realise how much he needed Stiles. The young beta might be lacking in combat skills, but he made up for that lack with his mind. 

It would wreck him when Stiles realised how awful Derek really was, when Stiles went looking for a better pack. 

"What?" Stiles asked. 

"Why… why did you do that?" Derek asked. "I don't know anything about comics, but it's valuable, right?" 

"A few hundred dollars," Stiles said. 

"Why?" Derek repeated. 

"Because that footage is going to my dad, anonymous tip style," Stiles said. Before Derek could protest, he continued talking. "Not right away, obviously. But. When we prove it was them who set the fire, this video is going to help." 

"I could have instigated it," Derek said. 

Stiles' eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Did you?" 

Derek shook his head. "No. Well. I may have mouthed off. But, I didn't attack him. Cameras." 

"Whew," Stiles breathed. He gestured towards the car. "C'mon. Get out of there. I made chili tonight, and there's baked tortilla chips and cheese and sour cream. Have a bowl, and then you and I can go get the video." 

"Where's the Sheriff?" Derek asked. 

"Helping his deputies with the curfew," Stiles said. "We're good for… probably an hour or so." 

Since he didn't want to explain to the Sheriff why he'd dragged Stiles out to run an errand, that answer made him feel relief---a brief spark of the lighter feeling---and helped wash away the lingering tension from his confrontation with Argent. He nodded and eased himself out of the car, walking around the vehicle until he was at Stiles' side. 

"Thank you," Derek said. "For… the video. I can pay you back---" 

"Dude, don't worry about it," Stiles interrupted. 

"Stiles." 

Stiles shrugged. "I… okay. It would be appreciated. But, I wasn't expecting you to when I offered. The video's important to me, too, all right? Because they're hunters and if we can keep them at bay, I'll do anything to keep 'em off our backs." 

"I know," Derek said. "I mean… I'm realising. I… I didn't think---" 

He broke off and waved his hand in an attempt at some sort of gesture. 

"Dude, before you have a stroke or something, stop," Stiles teased. "We're good." 

Lacking anything of use to say, Derek nodded and followed Stiles into the house.

#####

When they got back from the gas station, with a ridiculous VHS tape in Stiles' backpack, Derek went to the guest room and Stiles rushed up to his bedroom to hide their evidence.

John didn't make it a habit to search Stiles' room, but Stiles knows he did it once (because everything on his desk was just _a little_ out of place and because his email account's security features told him he'd been logged in at two locations for a few minutes that day) and had adjusted his hiding places accordingly. 

Instead of using boxes under his bed and behind his clothes like Scott did and the backs and undersides of drawers like he once did, Stiles had taken a small set of encyclopedias he'd found at a yard sale and turned them into a box with the help of a hot glue gun and some of the equipment and materials in the school's shop classroom. He kept them in his closet, on the top shelf so no one could see the way the books had been hollowed, on the far side of a box marked _Mom_ and with a few other, older textbooks nearby to make it look like that was the right place for the older reference material. 

So far, the books worked. He kept coins and marbles on the surface of his private stash, and they remained undisturbed every time he checked them. 

The video ended up at the bottom of his collection of… well, practically nothing of any real consequence. There were a couple of items to increase sexual pleasure (because he might not be attracted to anyone, ever, but his body still needed release from time to time and sometimes it was harder---no pun intended---than other times to make that happen), a few notes he and Scott had passed to each other (because during darker times in their childhoods, between deaths and divorces, it had been easier to write than to talk), a set of handcuffs (because he'd stolen them from an unobservant deputy when he was twelve, because he'd planned on becoming Batman---without the deep-seated issues), a lighter, and a couple of compact discs of music his father had forbidden (because he'd deemed the lyrics inappropriate when Stiles was fifteen). It all covered the video cassette adequately; he hoped it would provide cover and protect the tape until he and Derek needed it. 

Stiles made it downstairs and had started the dishes before John returned home. By the time John came into the kitchen, his uniform traded in for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, Stiles was putting a bowl of chili and all the necessary condiments on the table. 

"Thanks, Stiles," John murmured. 

"I tweaked the recipe," Stiles said. "There's some sweet potato and more beans and I upped the heat---" 

"It's gonna be great," John interrupted. 

He smiled tiredly and patted Stiles' shoulder on his way to the fridge. Beer in hand, he shuffled to the table and sat down where his place was set. 

Stiles watched him, listening to his breathing and studying his posture, and tried to guess what had worn out John so much. 

"Myers died," John said, his voice almost a whisper. "I was on my way back when the hospital called." 

"Shit," Stiles breathed. "What happened?" 

"His condition just took a turn for the worst. Infection, stress on the body," John replied. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," Stiles murmured. 

"Why? It's not your fault." 

Stiles sighed. "I know… just… I feel bad." 

"Me, too," John said. "Not how I'd want to go. Never got a chance to ask him more questions about the animal, either, although that's not as important in the scheme of things." 

Sitting down at the table, Stiles thought about the next question he wanted to ask. Instead of something obvious that might tip off his father, Stiles decided to take the scenic route to the information he wanted. 

"Does he have any family?" Stiles asked. "Maybe he talked to them?" 

John shook his head. "His wife divorced him five years ago," he said. "I remember he hit a rough patch around then, but he'd been sober the last three years." 

Stiles thought that was interesting, because human behaviour interested him, but he couldn't figure out how to make that work for the mysteries he wanted to solve. 

"Someone… a sponsor?" Stiles asked. 

John raised one eyebrow. "Are you a cop or are you writing a book?" he asked. 

Stiles snorted. "Nah, just brainstorming. I know it's probably a hurt or deranged animal, but I want you to get your guy, y'know?" 

"Me, too, Stiles," John said, picking up his spoon. "Me, too." 

Stiles squeezed his arm affectionately as he got up from the table. He finished the dishes as John ate---and moaned appreciatively, unaware that the beef was actually ground turkey---and then he ducked out of the room and down the hall to check on Derek. 

Derek was reading a book, stretched out on his back on the bed. His heartbeat was steady and there were no obvious emotions wafting off of him in chemical signals. He looked comfortable; a sense of _safety_ developed in the back of Stiles' mind. 

When he turned the page, he looked up at Stiles. Stiles walked into the room and closed the door until it was only opened a crack. 

"Myers died," Stiles said. 

"I heard." 

"Do you have the old arson report? Maybe in your insurance documents?" Stiles asked. 

"Why would I?" Derek replied. "I know who did it." 

"Yeah, but---"

"You want to know if he investigated the fire," Derek said. 

Stiles nodded. "Yes. It might tell us something." 

"Laura might have had a copy," Derek said, setting the book on the bedside table. "I know she digitized a lot of stuff, because we couldn't hang on to papers if we were being hunted. I'll check---if I can remember the password." 

Stiles nodded again. 

"Anything else?" Derek asked. 

"I… no." 

"Stiles." 

He gestured at the bed. "Could I sit with you for a bit?" he asked.

Derek's eyebrows softened from their testing scowl. He nodded. With that permission, Stiles crossed the room and sat at the foot of the bed. Instinct was telling him to curl up at Derek's side; sense was telling him to keep a bit of distance in case John decided to look for either of them. He compromised by making sure his folded legs pressed into Derek's legs, like a point of contact between two packmates. 

"Y'know… now that Argent knows you're in town…" 

Derek snorted. 

Stiles glared at him. "No, seriously, listen," he insisted. "Obviously I'm fine with you being here. Better than fine. But, I get that it might not feel like your territory. If you want to look for a place of your own---a place with electricity and running water---it'd probably be okay." 

"Except that they could find me then," Derek said. "You think they couldn't bribe someone at a utility to tell them if I have an account with them?" 

"There are other ways," Stiles replied. "Rent a room at a motel---" 

"No." 

"Smells?" 

Derek nodded. 

Stiles nodded, too. "Right. Then, what about… a company? I don't know how all that works, but couldn't you set up a company to rent an apartment somewhere?" 

Expecting another negative response, Stiles was surprised when Derek hummed and said, "That might work. I'll think about it." 

"Cool," Stiles murmured. 

Derek snorted and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "C'm'ere," he said, gesturing with his hand. 

When Stiles clumsily reached Derek's side, Derek curled his arm around Stiles' body and his hand around the back of Stiles' neck. He rubbed his cheek against the side of Stiles' head; he exhaled noisily when Stiles returned the gesture. 

As weird as it was to acknowledge and admit, Stiles felt safe, with that quiet exchange. He hoped Derek felt the same. He wasn't entirely sure how pack was supposed to feel, but he liked the way it felt with Derek---and he wanted to hang onto that feeling for as long as he could.


End file.
